And Very Heroic
by copyrogueleader
Summary: AU. Blaine is a lifeguard, and though he's never spoken to him, is fascinated by one swimmer who comes in to practice every night. Klaine, and a little bit of Faberry, if you look closely.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, everyone! "The Soloist" is coming along, a little slower than I would have liked, but I've been pretty busy since I got back from a lovely vacation. In any case, here is a little story to keep you entertained while you wait for violinist Kurt and pianist Blaine's first date (; This will be in two parts, so here is the first! Hope you enjoy, comments are loved (: **

And Very Heroic – Part I

Blaine had never spoken to him.

He just watched him.

Every evening at 6 pm he padded in from the men's locker room, carrying a soft white towel, a pair of silvery goggles (the kind that acted as a one-way mirror, allowing the swimmer to see his path but not allowing onlookers to see the swimmer's eyes), a small stopwatch, and a tight black swim cap.

Blaine, sitting high up in the lifeguard's chair on the opposite side of the pool, watched as he folded his towel carefully and placed it on the far corner of the lowest bleacher in the vast section of metal seating, the section that, on competition days, would fill to the brim with spectators – aunts, uncles, and godparents come from out of town to cheer on the family swim champ, mothers bouncing toddlers on their knees, pointing out into the lanes, telling little Susie, "That's your big sister, out there!"

But of course, during the last hour of Blaine's regular, weekday shift, the room was empty.

Except for him.

He couldn't have been much older than Blaine – seventeen, eighteen at the very oldest.

Along with his towel, he temporarily set aside his cap, watch, and goggles, and then he stepped out of his flip flops and slid them beneath the bench before beginning his pace, taking a few steps in one direction, then a few steps in another as he rolled his neck and shoulders, breathing deeply as he stretched them out in preparation for that day's exercise. Every crick and crack of vertebra, ball-and-socket joint, and shoulder blade resounded off the four 30-foot-tall walls of the nearly-empty natatorium. But never once did he react, and never once did he lose his concentration.

Finally he stopped, firmly planting his feet on the sea-green cement that surrounded the swimming pool, and stretched his arms high above his head. Even Blaine could see from his seat yards away that every fiber of his arms, everything from shoulder to fingertip, was tense in only the most disciplinary fashion. He held them there, stretched to the ceiling, until his biceps literally began to shake with the need for relief.

And only then would he grant his toned, swimmer's arms mercy, bending at the waist and allowing them to hang limply on either side of his head for a while, until he stretched them stiff again, this time to his toes.

Every day, the same warm-up continued for at least ten minutes. Rolling the neck and shoulders, stretching to the sky, stretching to the ground, then finally sitting down, legs spread far apart, and stretching his hamstrings and quadriceps. His arm and leg muscles worked like rubber bands as he bent at the waist, reached out, and grabbed hold of his foot as he pressed his forehead to his right knee, his left knee, then both when be brought his legs together, grabbing both feet, and stretching forward.

At long last he hoisted himself up off the floor and made his way back to the corner of the bleacher, where he slowly peeled away his t-shirt.

The first few times Blaine had sat and watched the routine from start to finish, he hadn't thought much of it. He was a lifeguard – shirtless men were kind of commonplace in his current line of work.

But two days in a row turned into a week, and a week turned into three weeks, which turned into a month, which turned into a month and half…

And Blaine could no longer deny it – this man's body was absolutely breathtaking.

He wasn't muscular in the way the term was normally used, but rather lean and lithe, with arms and legs whose tendons and muscles were pliable with a kind of vitality Blaine had never really _seen _before. With a long, slender neck, pronounced shoulders, a pale, visibly hairless chest whose rhythmic, regulatory rise and fall was all but completely hypnotizing, a taut yet delicately defined abdomen, a soft contour of the v-shaped muscle that stretched across his hips, disappearing beneath his navy blue swim shorts…

At times, especially in the odd lighting of the natatorium and the way it bounced off the periwinkle walls, he looked more like a white marble statue than a living, breathing human being.

It wasn't as if Blaine just stared, blatantly and intently eyeing him as he removed layers of clothing in preparation for his training. Of course not, that would be ridiculous, and _I most certainly wouldn't do something like that… _

Well, having a crossword or Sudoku in hand helped; helped make it _look _like he was occupied with something else, in any case.

When Blaine first began to pay such close attention to all of these tiny details, he was constantly catching and attempting to stop himself, worried the young man he was admiring would soon be the one doing the catching. But, had he known back then what weeks upon weeks of seeing this same routine every evening, like clockwork, had taught him, he would not have been worried at all; from the time he emerged from that locker room to the time he packed up and headed to the showers, nothing – _nothing_ – pulled this swimmer's focus.

It was a little intimidating, how dedicated to this ritual he was. A little intimidating, but very, very admirable.

Blaine watched as he retrieved his cap, stopwatch, and goggles, and moved to the first starting block. Beneath the florescent lighting, the pliant muscles in his arms and legs became more clearly defined as he knelt by the tile edge of the pool and reached in with cupped hands, taking some of the lukewarm water and wetting his hair so that he could slide the black cap onto his head with relative ease. Once all of his soft, feathery brown hair was tucked away beneath it, he stretched the band of the goggles and pulled them on, leaving them tight against his forehead while he adjusted the timer on his stopwatch and set it on the tile rim.

He climbed onto the starting block and pulled the silvery goggles over his eyes, which made him look even less human than he already did.

By the time the stopwatch had given its signaling _beep beep beep _and his body had sprung from the block and into the water with one swift, seemingly effortless dive, everything _homo sapiens_ about him had vanished.

He was an animal, an aquatic mammal, an ethereal creature of the sea whose speed and agility were undoubtedly unmatched among all others of his kind. He conquered eight-lap cycles at lightning speed, no matter what the stroke – Blaine found it hard to believe that he even had enough time to take breaths as he bobbed above and below the surface during his breaststroke, it took him all of a few arm cycles to cross the pool freestyle, and his arms moved like barely-visible propellers with his backstroke. But the fastest, sharpest, most impressive was, by far, his butterfly. His arms were fins displacing water by the gallon, his feet, together, were a flipper propelling him onward, then launching him from the wall again and again until he made his final circuit, returning to his starting place and slapping the stopwatch, marking his newest time.

Treading water there at the edge of the pool, he removed his goggles and then his cap and set the two by the stopwatch. Then, all at once, he was human again. His expression, for the first time since he had emerged from the locker room, was something other than disciplined determination. His lips remained parted as he repeatedly yet steadily, rhythmically took in and let out gulps of air. His eyebrows were slightly upturned and his forehead was creased in exhaustion, and it looked as though all he wanted to do was climb out of that swimming pool and collapse.

But no, he couldn't. Not just yet, anyway. After seeing this routine so many times, Blaine had come to realize that this – these few minutes of treading after each eight-lap circuit – was part of the exercise. He could not, and would not give in to his exhaustion, no matter how achingly his muscles begged him. Blaine could almost read his mind, just by looking at the strained yet resolute expression on his face. _You're not tired, _he seemed to be telling himself as he moved his arms back and forth, back and forth, and kept his feet moving as if he were pedaling a bicycle underwater, _Two more minutes. You're not tired. It's all in your mind… _

And then, after approximately two minutes, he would let his arms and legs go limp, submerging himself below the surface, disappearing for a few brief moments before his hands alone appeared, grasping the edge of the pool.

Then, with a splash of water that broke the tense silence, he hoisted himself onto the tile ledge, eyes closed in exertion, hair plastered to his forehead and to the nape of his neck, water cascading down his body and onto the tile and cement floor.

There he would sit, for a few moments, and catch his breath. When it appeared as though his heaving chest had returned to its steady, controlled rise and fall, he slid his fingers into his hair and shook it out, sprinklings of water splaying out around him, until it was about halfway back to its normal, feathery texture. No sooner had he gotten to his feet, gathered up his equipment, his t-shirt, and his towel (which he wrapped snugly around his shoulders), slipped back into his flip-flops, and headed for the locker rooms, finally finished for the day.

Every weekday, at 6 pm. Like clockwork.

But Blaine had never spoken to him.

Undergoing self-imposed intensive training during the last hour of Blaine's daily shift, however, was not the only circumstance under which the dedicated young swimmer crossed Blaine's path. Occasionally, when Blaine left the natatorium and ventured into the gym to clock in from his break or grab a second Dr. Pepper from the vending machine in the weight room, he would see him, usually in red or black basketball shorts and a fitted t-shirt with "McKinley Titans" printed in bold lettering across the chest, talking with two girls Blaine recognized as divers who practiced just an hour before he did, only, every other day instead of daily.

From what Blaine had gathered, the three of them were close friends. More than once, Blaine had walked into the weight room to find the tiny, slightly boisterous brunette holding fast to the mysterious swimmer's feet while he rapidly raced through a cycle of sit-ups, the breathtakingly beautiful blonde sitting close by with a stopwatch. Then, they would rotate, switching tasks until each had had a time recorded for that particular day. They talked and laughed with each other all through it, though, as close friends do. Blaine hated stereotypes – really, hated them – but couldn't help himself from wondering if the fact that this young man's two closest friends were female was indicative that, in other, more private aspects of his life, he maybe… possibly… preferred…

Blaine refused to get his hopes up. He was very much aware of his lack of viable opportunities, but this, unfortunately, never seemed to soften the blow of rejection.

One day while sitting up at his post, he watched the two divers, the blonde and the brunette, as they practiced some new routines. Blaine didn't know much about the technical aspects of competitive diving, but it was fascinating to watch them regardless. Particularly off the high dive.

They would take turns, kindly critiquing one another's performances, joking and gossiping with each other in between. That was the main difference between what these two girls did, and what the swimmer did. Until one of them was standing at the end of the diving board, breathing deeply, preparing to take her first jump, the mood was very light, relaxed. And while neither of them knew Blaine by name, one or both would usually wave amiably to him upon entering the room for their bi-daily work-outs. Additionally, being that conversation bounced freely back and forth between the brunette and the blonde, Blaine had gathered that their names were Rachel and Quinn, respectively.

Upon learning this, Blaine contemplated simply introducing himself, making some small talk, then conveniently yet subtly turning the conversation to their friend, the one who came in every day at 6 pm, wholly and completely absorbed in his task until the minute he headed to the showers.

But then, Blaine remembered: he was not allowed to get his hopes up.

So, he just smiled and waved back, then let them get on with their diving, which really was a treat to watch. This, Blaine realized, was partially due to the charming amount of banter and physical affection freely shared between these two girls. They would help each other out of the pool, smooth or re-braid each other's hair before the next dive… just little things, but things that showed they were as close as friends could be.

The weeks swam by, blurring into each other with the repetitiveness of each day's events, and Blaine continued sitting through the 3 pm pre-school swim classes, the intermediate lessons of 8-12-year-olds. He took a late break and saw the weight room slowly filling with high school students, heard whistles and bouncing basketballs in the adjacent gymnasium, then eventually returned to his post as a few middle-aged men and women came in to do laps for thirty, forty minutes.

5 o'clock rolled around, and sure enough, the two divers named Rachel and Quinn came in, chatting animatedly about something that was surely high school drama as they stepped out of their flip-flops and adjusted the diving board mechanisms to accommodate their ideal length and height.

They moved at a relaxed pace, finishing up in just under an hour. Then, something happened that had never happened before: the 6 pm swimmer came in, just a little earlier than usual, and he and his two friends were all in the natatorium at the same time. He made his way over to them as they exchanged hellos, then sat down on the lowest bleacher to casually talk to them as they wrapped their towels around their waists and prepared to head down to the showers. At first, Blaine wasn't sure why this struck him as odd; he had seen the three friends talk and laugh many times before, just never in _here… _then, he realized. Never had he seen this boy completely and totally _human _in here. He had never seen him speak to anybody, had never seen him smile, in here. He came in, hard and determined, and he left, focus unbroken. It was so out of context, seeing him chat with Rachel and Quinn, like everything was just normal.

Soon enough the two girls left for the locker rooms, and he pulled himself into that place – wherever it was – that he went before beginning the day's exercise. He went through the motions, the same as always, but something felt different to Blaine today. And somehow, he thought maybe the swimmer was feeling it too, even though it appeared that everything was going as it always had…

But so accustomed was Blaine to that perpetual, tapping rhythm of the swimmer's daily practice that… when the ethereal sea creature was suddenly yanked back into human form… when he had been halfway out of the water, slipped on the ledge and cried out in pain… tearing off his cap and goggles and forcing himself out of the water… gripping his ankle as he screamed soundlessly, eyes squeezed shut, as if he were under the illusion that that would somehow make that agony subside…

Blaine was achingly slow to adjust. To process the fact the he was hurt. He needed help. He was _hurt. _That…

_Oh God, he's hurt. Oh my God, he's hurt. _

**Part II to come soon! Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for all of the lovely reviews on the first part, you guys! I'm so happy everyone's enjoying this. I've had it in my head for a while, and most of you guys know how awesome that feeling is when an idea finally "comes to fruition," as Tyler Oakley would say, haha. Sorry about the wait. Here is Part II!**

And Very Heroic – Part II

Blaine would have cursed himself for not reacting sooner had he not been so overcome with urgency by the anguished expression on the swimmer's face as he clutched his ankle, which Blaine was horrified to see had begun to bleed. In one swift movement Blaine swung down from his chair and bolted around to the starting blocks, taking with him two clean towels and the first aid kit he kept just below the ladder.

When he reached the block on the farthest side – the one by which the boy was sitting, soaking wet, white-knuckled fingers closed in a vice grip around his bloody ankle – he dropped the towel and first aid kit nearby and immediately moved in close to the victim who, though he hadn't cried out since hoisting himself from the water, was panting heavily through gritted teeth in what was clearly a severe amount of pain.

At first, Blaine didn't speak. Part of him felt as though he couldn't, that there was and would always be a boundary between himself and the beautiful creature he had been watching for so many weeks. But there was another part of him that felt as though he didn't _need _to speak. Not right away, at least. That it was enough for him to tenderly clasp one of the boy's dripping, goose-bump-covered shoulders, then to move that hand slowly to the center of his arched back and hold it there while his other hand ventured to hover just above one of the swimmer's wrists, almost in question.

"Have you ever broken a bone before?"

It was the first thing he asked. And he asked so softly, and so unexpectedly, that he wasn't entirely sure he had really said anything at all until there was an equally soft, unexpected response.

"Yeah… yeah, I…" a sharp intake of air, a gasp of pain, "I… I have. A leg. And a wrist."

"Does it feel broken?" Blaine moved his hand slowly toward his wrist until his fingertips just brushed against the swimmer's skin. And maybe Blaine was imagining things, but he thought he felt something there, a kind of pull between each of their hands, like part of his damp wrist wanted to melt right into Blaine's protective touch.

"I…" he gasped again, but retained his grip while Blaine brought both hands to the site of the injury and, as cautiously as he could, laid them on top of the swimmer's, so that both he and ailing young man were holding the bleeding, now slightly swollen ankle, together. "I don't… I don't think so…" he managed to say, somehow palpably comforted by Blaine's hands on each of his own, even if his voice still quivered from the cold of having just escaped the water and the pain in his ankle, "But it… I don't know… it's pretty bad…"

"Okay… okay…" Now that he had a firm grip on the injured ankle, Blaine was slightly afraid to let go. "Okay, um…" he felt his head just make the slightest back and forth motion, as if he were subconsciously searching for an answer to his unasked question. An answer which, to his surprise, came regardless.

"Kurt."

It took Blaine another moment to realize what the swimmer had just whispered, and what it meant in the current situation. It didn't fully settle, in fact, until Blaine, turning his head to give a questioning look, met the swimmer's eyes, which were deep, watery, concerned, and strangely dependent on whatever Blaine could possibly offer him in this moment of weakness, despite the fact that, no, he really didn't know him. They really didn't know each other. And this thought gave Blaine that feeling again, that feeling that the swimmer's trembling hands wanted to melt right into his own and soak up the soothing, consoling assurance in Blaine's strong, firm grip. The assurance that, _Yes… yes, you're going to be okay._

"Kurt," Blaine repeated.

Kurt nodded, offering Blaine the closest thing to a smile he could muster.

"Okay, Kurt… if, if we can lay you down, would you let me take a look at it?"

Kurt looked hesitant, but all reservation vanished when he gasped in pain once again. "Yeah… yeah, okay…"

"Okay."

In another moment, Kurt and Blaine seemed to be moving in slow motion, almost, Blaine felt, as if underwater. Together, as if instinctually, they freed Kurt's ankle of their grasps and Kurt held it cautiously a few inches in the air. There it remained while Blaine moved to help Kurt down onto his back. He placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder, and could have sworn that his skin began to tingle at the touch. Kurt's skin was white, and cool, and pink, and warm… somehow, all at the same time. And this didn't make any sense, but somehow, made perfect sense to Blaine, who at some point had begun to wonder if Kurt was feeling those same tingles when Blaine touched _him… _

As gently as he could, he laid Kurt's head, with his damp, feathery brown hair, down on the cement, but quickly muttered, "Wait," and retrieved one of the clean white towels. He folded it into the likeness of a small pillow, and placed it beneath Kurt's head.

Kurt's chest bounced a little with what Blaine initially thought was another gasp of pain, but turned out to be a soft chuckle. Now lying flat on his back, Kurt looked up into Blaine's eyes.

"Thanks," he said. And he was smiling.

Suddenly, the tingles were everywhere. "Sure," Blaine said, smiling back.

Fighting away a mysterious, powerful instinct to stay there by Kurt's side and just touch him, grasp his shoulder, hold his hand, feel those tingles over and over and over again, Blaine finally managed to stand and move back to the site of the injury.

Realizing that it was probably taking quite a bit out of Kurt to continue upholding his ankle as he was, Blaine sat down and took Kurt's calf gently into his hands. He felt Kurt finally relax, letting his leg go, trusting Blaine to take care of him.

"Can you tell me exactly what happened, Kurt?" Blaine asked, not turning to make eye contact, but pulling over the second towel and spreading it out beneath the ankle, allowing it to soak up any of the blood that had found its way to the floor (a problem he knew would require more custodial attention… after Kurt was taken care of, of course).

"Yeah, yeah, sure…"

Blaine listened as Kurt spoke, and also pulled up a corner of the towel to wipe the blood away from Kurt's skin.

"I…" understandably, there were interludes of panting, gasps, and heavy sighs scattered through his recollection. But if anything, this only made Blaine listen more intently. "I… it just didn't feel right," he said, "I was off, I knew it would… I knew my time would be a bad one, so… so I was getting out, to start over…"

Suddenly, Kurt jerked his leg and cried out in pain as Blaine ran the towel over an apparently tender area of his lower calf, startling Blaine and causing him to stammer, "Oh God! Oh my God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"No, no, no…" Kurt ran his hands through his damp hair, attempting to calm himself as he let his leg fall limp in Blaine's hands once again, "No… you… it's okay, it just… _shit…" _he muttered, a humorless laugh following. He held his hands firmly in his hair, taking two handfuls and gripping tightly, as if attempting to divert the pain. His pained, worried eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

"I was getting out to start over," he continued, as Blaine put down the towel, and, cautiously, began to examine the ankle, this time, with eyes only, "and I… I slipped, my toes slipped on the edge, and my whole foot just kinda went… like… sideways and… I slammed my ankle right down there…" he pointed to the edge of the pool, gaze remaining on the ceiling, "And then I, I felt something…" another dry laugh, "… felt something move in there. Something in my ankle that shouldn't have moved just did, and to a place it shouldn't be."

"Then where did…"

"The blood," Kurt said, and Blaine saw him nodding on his makeshift pillow out of the corner of his eye, "came from… when I, I scratched it at the edge of the starting block. There's a… a sharp edge there… at the bottom… and good God," he laughed, "of every square inch of surface area on that thing, you'd think I could have hit myself _anywhere _else when I swung my foot outta the water… _anywhere _else…"

Blaine spotted the long yet just shallow enough gash on the side of Kurt's foot, and laughed halfheartedly as well. "Isn't that always how it is…"

Kurt made a small groan of agreement, and Blaine gradually felt the tension in Kurt's leg subside, felt it melt back into Blaine's hands, trusting them. Trusting him.

"Well, the cut's not going to cause you any trouble," he assured, feeling Kurt huff out a sigh of relief. "It's not too deep. What I'm worried about is, ah… the "something" in there that's "somewhere it shouldn't be…"

"Yeah, yeah… me too…"

"It's okay. We'll… we'll figure it out. We're going to have to try a few things, though, okay?"

Kurt huffed out another breath, one that sounded slightly resigned, but also, somehow, grateful. "Okay."

"All right…" Blaine kept his fingers wrapped around Kurt's calf, but tightened his grip just the tiniest bit before observing the ankle carefully. "Can you wiggle your toes at all?"

Blaine sighed, and laughed in relief when Kurt successfully managed to move a few toes, _without _crying out in pain. Always a good sign. "Good. Good, that's good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, for sure. Any pain when you do that?"

"Not much. Just kinda… stiffness, I guess. Like, the pain is… _impending…_ if that makes, any sense at all… wow, now I just sound like a pretentious vocab nut…"

"No, no…" Blaine laughed, "Not at all, that… that makes perfect sense actually. You feel like you can wiggle your toes all right, but if you move a, a millimeter to one side or another, the pain'll come in searing…"

"Yes, yes exactly…"

"Which means there's a ton of tension in your joint, you probably twisted it somehow…"

"So maybe to release the tension I should just…"

"No… _no, no, no_…"

Blaine was powerless to stop him, and in a second, he forced his foot hard to the left then hard to the right, taking painfully sharp intakes of breath each time as if to compensate for the desire to scream, the two consecutive cracks resounding, loud and clear, in Blaine's ears. And it scared him, truly, until he turned to look back at Kurt. The swimmer let his arms fall, palms up, on either side of his head and breathed a sigh of release, his face finally changing from stress-ridden, to relieved. But as relieved as Blaine, himself, was, the lifeguard inside him still meant business.

"Dude, what were you… I mean at least let me… if you had made it _worse_…"

"If I had made it worse," Kurt smiled, eyes remaining closed as his chest rose and fell steadily in liberation, "I'd have blamed myself. Not you, Hasselhoff. Lawsuits are messy, and nobody really wins in the end."

Blaine had to chuckle, try as he might to play the part of the unamused professional. "Well, you shouldn't pull things like that around lifeguards. We take your safety seriously. And I resent that."

"Resent what?" Kurt asked, lifting his head and looking at Blaine, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Being compared to David Hasselhoff," Blaine said, watching Kurt's smirk turn into a full-on grin.

"Why would you resent that?" Kurt smiled, wincing just the tiniest bit as he moved his ankle in slow circles, working the joint. "You wanna talk hunky '80s heartthrobs, I'd take Mitch Buchannon or Michael Knight any day of the week."

Blaine upheld Kurt's calf with one hand and carefully grasped his foot with the other, helping Kurt release any lingering tension in his ankle. "Exactly," he said, suddenly so lost in the spontaneity of the casual conversation that any nerves or insecurities he had about talking with Kurt in this way had vanished. Oblivious even to this, Blaine was suddenly riding the wave, carefree. "Comparing a 21st Century dork like me to an '80s heartthrob like Mitch Buchannon? That's just not fair." Blaine pulled the first aid kit to his side and opened it up. He held up a small tube of antibiotic cream and gave Kurt a questioning look. When Kurt nodded in response to Blaine's silent question, Blaine pulled out everything he needed to thoroughly clean the cut. Gently, as if Kurt's ankle were some fragile, breakable object, he began to treat the wound. He kept the leg propped up in his lap, still wary that laying it on the floor may be applying too much pressure.

"Well, they're certainly big shoes to fill," Kurt said, lying back again as Blaine began to disinfect the long gash on his foot, "but I meant it as a compliment."

Everything… the physical closeness, the tenderness of his own actions, the trusting nature of Kurt's, the unprompted conversation and what that conversation had indicated… finally caught up with Blaine. And his stomached flipped, and his mouth went dry, and his hands, once again, tingled with every touch of Kurt's warm, bare skin. And he knew, he wasn't allowed to get his hopes up. He had laid down the law himself. But despite this, he couldn't help himself from wondering if maybe Kurt was feeling it too, if maybe that smile Blaine caught when he chanced a glance backwards actually _meant_ something.

Luckily, Blaine's hands had finished the job cleaning Kurt's cut while his mind had wandered away, but it returned just in time for him to bandage the gash, then wrap his lower calf, ankle, and foot tightly in a long, flexible strip of beige gauze. He held it for a moment, unsure of what to do, when suddenly Kurt asked, "So will I live?"

Blaine turned to see Kurt propped up on his forearms, eyeing Blaine's handiwork curiously.

"I'd… say that's a safe bet."

Blaine gave him a comforting smile, and carefully set Kurt's bandaged foot on the floor. He packed up the first aid kit and bunched up the bloody towel, deciding he would take care of those when he closed up for the night. Instead, he turned his attention back to Kurt, moving to his side and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Well," he breathed, "You ready?"

Kurt nodded, smiling nervously. "Let's do it."

Blaine crouched down and slid an arm around Kurt's back while Kurt latched an arm around his neck, and again, Blaine found himself momentarily unaware of everything except the _closeness, _the warmth radiating off of Kurt's skin and into Blaine where it seemed to be pulsing through his very veins…

Suddenly gripped by _Good Lord, how am I supposed to steady him if I can't even steady myself…?, _Blaine tightened his hold around Kurt's back and helped him sit up straight, then, while Kurt placed his good foot firmly on the ground and held the other one a few inches in the air, helped Kurt hoist himself up until he was standing once again, only this time, with Blaine as a crutch. And it wasn't until then that Blaine realized how tall Kurt actually was. Certainly a bit taller than Blaine.

"Whoa…" Kurt wobbled a little, and pressed his free hand to Blaine's midriff for balance, startling Blaine and, apparently, himself at the same time. "Sorry! Sorry, sorry…" he pulled his hand away quickly, looking down at the ground with an anxious laugh.

Blaine teetered at the beginning of a sentence, not knowing exactly what to say. He didn't know which way to turn; his mind was in so many places at once... until, somehow, he mustered a small smile and a soft, inquiring, "For what?"

"Oh… for, ah…" Kurt laughed again, that airy, nervous laugh, "For almost falling for y… falling, for… for almost falling down…" he stammered, facial expression a tell-tale sign that he was mentally slapping himself in the head, which, whether rightfully or not, made Blaine's body shake with gentle laughter, "… and… for almost falling down and, ah… taking you with me."

"Oh, never," Blaine grinned, suddenly feeling much less alone as he helped Kurt hobble toward the bottom bleacher, "They pounded all the clumsiness out of me in training. You know, so I'd make a reliable crutch." Kurt laughed, Blaine was happy to hear. He appeared to be bringing his injured foot closer and closer to the ground with every stride, probably, Blaine guessed, getting ready to attempt pressure again. And he was just about to advise against it when Kurt pressed his foot to the ground, only to retract it in an instant with a gasp.

"Yeah… probably best to not to put pressure on it for a while," Blaine said. Kurt sighed, but nodded.

Blaine helped Kurt take a seat on the metal bench, then went and retrieved his belongings from the poolside as well as, upon his own insistence, his duffle bag from the empty locker room. When he returned, Kurt was just finishing up towel-drying his hair, leaving it even fluffier and more feathery than before, but lightening it back to natural color. Kurt smiled at Blaine as he set the duffle bag at his feet, then took a seat next to him and began packing away Kurt's cap, goggles, and stopwatch. Blaine zipped up the bag just as Kurt was pulling on his t-shirt.

"You'll, um…" Blaine swallowed, not knowing exactly what he had planned on saying, "probably… wanna get that checked out though," he improvised, but was glad he did, as he hadn't really made that clear before. "If you can't step on it without pain, you'll definitely wanna get some more, ah… 'practiced' hands to take a look at it."

Kurt smiled at Blaine as he pulled out his flip flops, slid one on his left foot, then slipped the other into the side pocket of his bag. "I will. Although I have to say, your weren't doing too badly there, yourself."

Humbly Blaine dismissed the compliment with a wave of his hand, but grinned and felt warmth spread up his neck nonetheless.

Kurt just nodded, insistently. "Very helpful. And very heroic."

"Heroic?" Blaine repeated with a laugh. "You might need to get out a little more, Kurt…"

"Well, I can't argue with that…" Kurt chuckled. He put his hands down on the bench and tested his foot again, applying it with some pressure to the floor. Blaine had just muttered "Careful…" when Kurt drew back with a quick, sharp gasp.

"Hang on a second," Blaine said, patting his shoulder and heading a few strides over to one of the storage closets. He knew he had a pair in there somewhere…

"Seriously, though," he called from inside the small room as he shifted through the boxes of emergency supplies, "You've haven't missed a beat for, what, six weeks?" finally, he found the pair of adjustable crutches they kept on hand, switched off the light, and closed the door behind him as he headed back over to Kurt, who looked pleasantly surprised but endlessly grateful for the delivery. "Do you ever have time to do anything, just for the heck of it? Anything fun?"

"Can't lie, it's been a while," Kurt sighed. "Thanks," he said quietly, when Blaine adjusted the crutches to Kurt's height and held them in place for Kurt to stand up.

When he gained his balance, Kurt glanced down at his bag and was about to attempt retrieving it, but Blaine stooped down and grabbed it for him, addressing Kurt's protests with a wave of the hand and the kind assurance that, "I got it, I got it."

He slung it over his shoulder, and began heading for the side exit, Kurt hobbling along beside him.

He held the door and the two of them stepped out into the night. The air was cool from an earlier downpour, and the sky was clear. The parking lot was just a few yards away. Blaine inquired if Kurt had a car and offered to give him a ride home if he needed one, but Kurt had just begun to explain that two of his friends should just be getting out of yoga when a girl's voice yelled "Kurt! Need a ride?" from the center of the lot.

"That'd be Rachel," he laughed. Blaine saw the tiny, brunette diver unlocking a small black SUV, waving Kurt down as her blonde friend glanced around, then waved as well. Both were sporting tennis shoes, Capri pants, and brightly colored tank tops.

"Ah, yes," Blaine said, "Those two, I know. Well, kind of. They always come in right before you, for…"

"Diving, yeah," Kurt finished, nodding. "They were on the swim team for a while back when we were sophomores," he explained, "That's how we all met."

"They seem really close," Blaine said, chuckling inwardly as Rachel got her first glimpse of newly handicapped Kurt and gasped, clutching Quinn's arm in shock.

Kurt laughed a little as well. "Yeah, you… you could say that," he smiled. "I'm, fine, Rachel!" he called at the top of his lungs, comically. "I'm fine!"

"But what _happened?" _she cried as they approached the car.

"Just me being a dumbass," Kurt said, humorously dry, as Quinn opened up the door to the backseat and helped him towards it. She asked Blaine if he needed the crutches back, but he insisted it was fine if they wanted to take them for the time being. She and Kurt thanked him, and she slid them onto the floor of the car.

Blaine handed him the duffle bag once he had climbed into the back of the car and assured them, "He'll be all right, it's not too serious. Get it looked at soon, though, okay?" he nodded emphatically at Kurt, hoping he could get it taken better care of soon.

Their eyes met, and Kurt smiled again, gratefully, when he said, "I will, I will. Blaine, thank you so much, for, for everything you did for me. I… I really, really appreciate it." Enthusiastically, the two divers agreed, thanking Blaine several times over before climbing into the front seats, Quinn at the wheel.

Blaine just smiled shyly and shook his head. "No, it… it was nothing. My pleasure. Be careful, okay?"

Kurt nodded, and they exchanged one more smile before Blaine shut the car door, then patted the window in farewell as Quinn started the car and drove off. Blaine watched them go, and laughed when Kurt rolled down his window and waved one last time before they headed out onto the main road.

Blaine headed back in to clean up for the night, smiling and humming to himself as he did.

But it wasn't until he had shut off the lights, doubled checked the locks, and headed out for the night that he realized… "He said…" _He said… 'Blaine, thank you so much…' he said, 'Blaine…' but I never…_

_How did he know my name? _

**Yes, yes, yes, there will be a Part III after all, haha. I had fully intended on making this two parts, but this one just ended up longer than I thought it would! Anyway, the next part will be something of an epilogue for ya. Hope you enjoyed! I love to hear your thoughts, so comment if you'd like (: Cheers!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I had a wave of inspiration this morning and finished this much quicker than I thought I would! So, here is the epilogue, a few days early for everyone who waited patiently for this story to slowly progress, haha. I hope you enjoy it (: And lookout for "The Soloist," an update is approaching!**

And Very Heroic – Epilogue

6 pm rolled around, day after day, week after week…

But he didn't come back.

It was to be expected, Blaine supposed, and he should have known this entire thing would only end in disappointment, but still. He missed him. That voice in his head only scoffed, _Missed him? You didn't even know him. _But he was through with trying to suppress it. It never worked, and usually only left him feeling more alone than ever.

_I do, though, _he'd think, when the voice got so aggressive and haughty that he just had to argue back, _I do miss him. No, I didn't really know him… _don't _really know him… but he was still a human being that I got to spend one hour with every single day. Just because we didn't speak until that one night doesn't mean we didn't notice each other… _

Blaine's breath caught in his chest. He froze for a minute, backtracked, and… there was no point in obeying the law anymore; he tossed "don't get your hopes up" off the side of his chair and into the deep end once and for all, and wondered, _Did he notice me too? _

All those weeks, it's seemed logical to assume that Kurt had noticed Blaine in some capacity. Surely he had processed the fact that there was a lifeguard sitting there, high up in his chair, keeping watch as he swam. But, had he really _noticed _him? Thought of him as Blaine had thought of Kurt? Blaine's heart leapt at the notion… it excited him, made him all the more curious as to what had been going on in Kurt's mind all those weeks. Maybe, Blaine considered, he was never really as focused as Blaine thought he was.

But it didn't matter anymore, Blaine reminded himself. He was gone. He hadn't come back in… how many days now? Blaine had lost count. There was the logical part of Blaine that kept saying it was just due to the injury, and that he'd be back when he got better, but there was that other part, as always, that reminded him there was no guarantee, then sneered, _Not that you really had a chance, anyway. So what difference does it make? _

Blaine sighed, leaned forward into his hands, and ran his fingers through his loose curls. He propped up his chin on his clasped fists and gazed out over the water, which was so still, it could very well have passed as frozen-over. _Well, no sense in sitting and waiting, _he thought. And he swung down from his chair to retract the diving boards, test and clean the water… anything to keep busy.

And he did this for so many days, it turned into another drumming routine, just like Kurt's eight-lap cycles. Day after day, hour after hour… he had grown so sure of it, it had become so mechanical, that when it was _finally _interrupted, after weeks of the same scheduled practices, Blaine was, once again… achingly slow to adjust.

"Need a hand?"

He had been kneeling beside the pool, and was just about to pull the chlorine strip out of the water when the unexpected voice made his entire body jolt as if electrically shocked.

"_Wha…?"_

Panting, he turned to his right, only to be greeted by a face he had been so resigned to never see again, he couldn't help but grin, and laugh.

"I… wha… hey!" he finally managed, making Kurt grin as well. Blaine hoisted himself off the ground and stood his full height, brushing off his hands on his t-shirt and looking Kurt up and down. It looked as though he was, once again, successfully living, breathing, and ready to jump back in. He was back in a white McKinley Titans t-shirt, black swim shorts, and bare feet… one foot, Blaine was pleased to see, no longer red, swollen, or mummified in bandages.

"How's your ankle?" Blaine asked, genuinely curious about the diagnosis.

Kurt paused for a moment as he stared into Blaine eyes, processing the question, then piped up, "Oh! Right, my…" he looked down, and moved his newly healed foot back and forth against the cement, a little celebratory dance as he looked back at Blaine and smiled, "All better. I _finally _got a prescription from my doctor to head to physical therapy," he explained, "Something snapped, another something twisted, and the whole thing bruised," he laughed, "But, two seasons of _How I Met Your Mother _and four weeks of rest later… cured."

"… 'Rest'…" Blaine repeated, crossing his arms over his chest, "Didn't know that word was in your vocabulary."

Kurt slipped his hands into the pockets of his swim shorts and shuffled his feet, nodding in agreement, "Not normally, not normally… but when you're bedridden, you know, it's like…" he shook his head a little, his eyes briefly scanning the ceiling before they found Blaine again, "being forcefully yanked out of the pattern of your, you know, everyday life, that you just… you look around and, all of a sudden, something that… never happens is… is happening…"

Before Kurt had even finished his last word, Blaine whispered, "I know exactly what you mean."

A silence passed between them, and they just looked at each other. And for a fleeting second, Blaine thought maybe Kurt was trying to tell him something, but then was quickly gripped by the exhilarating thought that maybe, Kurt was wondering the same thing about him…

"I… um…" Kurt mumbled, before gathering himself and continuing, "I decided to take what you said to heart."

Blaine thought for a moment, then simply decided to ask, "Will you remind me? If it was advice from me, you might want to double think that decision."

Kurt absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck and smiled, "About doing something, just for the heck of it. About doing something, just for fun?"

"Ah… yes, yes…" Blaine watched as Kurt meandered away from him a little, walking in undefined little pathways, smiling timidly.

"Rachel and Quinn are having a party tomorrow," he said, giving a wide-eyed look that made Blaine chuckle. "It's nothing new, they have parties all the time," he explained, "and they always extend me the invitation, but… like you said, I tend to be all work, no play."

Blaine kept his arms crossed, and watched Kurt, fondly.

"But," he continued, "tomorrow is Quinn's nineteenth birthday, so, they're being even more insistent than normal."

"Caving to peer pressure…" Blaine shook his head, giving Kurt a click of the tongue in teasing disapproval.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I know, I know… but she's one of my best friends. As much as the typical 21st Century party atmosphere and I don't get along," he sighed, looking amusedly resigned, "I figured I'd silently suffer through it to make her happy," he joked.

There was a kind of suspension at the end of his sentence, though, that made Blaine feel as though he wasn't quite done yet. He watched Kurt tiptoe closer to the water, teetering on the tile edge of the swimming pool. "… Unless…" he finally said, melodically, glancing back at Blaine, a smile on his lips and a playful gleam in his eyes…

"… you want to jump in and save me."

Blaine felt a blush creeping up his neck and high into his cheeks as his lips were tugged into bashful, flattered grin. It was, everything was, too perfect. The spontaneity of his return, the genuineness of their conversation, the kindness in his eyes, along with the mischief in his voice and in his smile… it was exactly the kind of thing that _didn't_ happen to Blaine. It was the kind of story that a friend would tell him excitedly over coffee on a Sunday afternoon and he would dismiss an exaggeration, a convenient fantasy of what everyone _wanted_ to happen, but never _really_ happened. It was everyone's expectation, and nobody's reality.

And yet, here he was, and there was Kurt, and it was happening to _them_. To _him_. Of all the people in the world, it was happening to Blaine. And it was such a dream, such a thing that _just didn't happen_, but this time… it was _real_.

_He's real. _Kurt_ is real. _

And he was waiting, patiently, timidly, but still with that playful smile, for an answer.

When Blaine just stood there, and looked at him, and blushed, and grinned, and just couldn't even find the words to tell Kurt how light he felt and how happy he was and how _crazy _it was because this _didn't happen to Blaine… _Kurt's smile only grew. And he laughed, and with one look, he said to Blaine, _Maybe this'll help you decide. _

He planted his feet, bent his knees, and suddenly soared through the air and plunged, inhuman and carefree and so very _beautiful_, into the water.

_This is a test, _Blaine thought with a laugh as he watched the blurry and ethereally misshapen underwater Kurt propel himself deeper and deeper. Accepting the challenge, Blaine grabbed at the hem of his t-shirt, pulled it over his head, and dove in after him.

Ironically, it had been quite a while since Blaine actually _swam _in a swimming pool. And he loved it. He loved the feeling of the lukewarm water closing in around him, and he loved having to exert that effort to do something as simple as move forward and downward, loved how it made the muscles in his shoulders, arms, back, and legs feel _useful _again…

And loved the fact that Kurt, hair moving in all sorts of random directions as the water pushed through and around it, t-shirt loose and riding up around his hips and his belly, was now facing Blaine, moving his arms back and forth, suspended in place, still smiling that same, charmingly mischievous, adorable smile… waiting for _him. _

In a make-believe fit of worry and urgency, Blaine swam over to Kurt and wrapped an arm around his back while Kurt hooked his own arm around Blaine's neck, just as they had all those weeks ago, when Blaine had helped Kurt onto his feet again. Before swimming to safety, Blaine gave Kurt a determined nod of the head along with his dorkiest 'Have no fear, I've come to rescue you' face, which, based on the silent laughter Kurt suppressed by clasping a hand over his mouth, he was glad to see Kurt most likely found hilarious.

He knew it was silly, and playful, and just for fun, but there was something about having his arms wrapped around Kurt, and having Kurt's arms around his neck, that Blaine couldn't describe any way other than it just felt so _good_.

They broke the surface and the first thing Blaine heard behind the splash of their return was Kurt's joyful laughter echoing off the surrounding walls. He saw him, his head back, hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, white shirt transparent and clinging to his skin, grinning as Blaine had never seen him grin before, and he was beautiful.

Blaine reached over and mussed up his hair affectionately as Kurt, laughter dying down, held tight to Blaine and breathed, "So that's a yes to Quinn's party?"

Blaine just grinned and rolled his eyes, because, _of course it's a yes. _

"Yes, Kurt. I'd love to jump in and save you… Oh!" he added suddenly, feeling as though every border and boundary separating him from this beautiful creature he'd been wondering about for so long had now officially disappeared, "How did you know my name? Back when… when I helped you into the car, and you thanked me… I never told you…"

"You thought you were the only one watching, didn't you?"

Just as Blaine was beginning to think that things could not have come any more full-circle, Kurt went and confirmed what Blaine had been aching to know all along; Blaine _hadn't _been the only one watching.

"You…" Kurt smiled, and Blaine asked, softly, "You too?"

"You walk through the weight room sometimes, talking to the other lifeguards when you go to clock in or out…" Kurt blushed a little. "I picked it up eventually." Blaine just shook his head in disbelief, and Kurt added, humorously, "I'm not creepy, I swear…"

Blaine just laughed, and Kurt did as well. "C'mon," he finally said, and began to displace water with his free arm, attempting to tread Blaine and himself back towards edge of the pool.

"Wait."

Blaine held Kurt still, and Kurt turned to give Blaine a questioning look. Up until then, Kurt had been the cute, clever, courageous one… _Now it's my turn, _Blaine thought with a grin.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered. And his heart swelled with excitement and pride when Kurt looked surprised, and maybe even a little nervous.

It was quickly masked, though, when Kurt inched a little closer and said, flirtatiously close to Blaine's ear, "Of course; you're my hero."

Blaine turned, hands on Kurt's waist, their gazes locked. "Then hold your breath."

He pulled them down, down until their heads plunged into the water and they held each, there, below the surface, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, still looking into each other's fiery, shining eyes.

Blaine felt Kurt's arms wrap around his waist just as he removed his hands from Kurt's, moving them up, up until, slowly, purposefully, they touched his shoulders, then brushed against his long, slender neck, then cupped his cheeks. And Blaine moved closer, and closer, until he was right there, and so was Kurt, and finally, they touched. And Blaine felt Kurt's lips against his own, the water surrounding them only amplifying the magnetic pull between their bodies, making it stronger, more powerful, with every move of the hands, with every touch of the lips…

And it was just like everyone always said about first kisses, about how they happen before you even realize they're about to, about how they happen intently, intimately, in slow motion. But somehow, at the same time, this kiss _wasn't_ like the ones everyone talked about. Because, it _was _in slow motion, and it _was_ unexpected, but above all, it was _theirs. _Only theirs.

And had they truly been two mystical creatures of the sea, Blaine would have liked to hold Kurt there, his hands against his cheeks and Kurt's arms around his waist, and kiss him, slowly, passionately, with every ounce of hope and readiness he had in his heart, until the end of time.

**Awww… lifeguard!Blaine gets a happily ever after. Haha. Thank you so much for reading, you guys. This is officially my most popular story yet! Exciting stuff! As always, I love, love, **_**love **_**hearing what you think, so leave a comment if you'd like! Cheers, everyone (: **


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